


Here Be Monsters

by spaceyquill



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Manipulation, foundations are built on trust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-02-04 08:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12767181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceyquill/pseuds/spaceyquill
Summary: Ezra inherits a treasure map leading across the galaxy, and the only way off a backwater planet like Lothal is with a captain who has neither a ship capable of hyperspace nor a crew beyond her cantankerous droid. With the help of a new friend and the backing of a financier, they search for a capable crew to get them to the treasure ahead of the Emperor’s inquisitors.In the midst of all of this, Ezra is realizing that the odd sensations he’s had all his life hint at something far greater, and he’s not the only one in this treasure hunting crew with that kind of power.





	1. The Map

The view from a descending spaceship usually boasted a singular magnificence not afforded on the ground. But Lothal didn’t even have that from ten thousand feet high. Outside of its sprawling capital, a clash of black industry and white architecture, spread a beige vastness that even the peculiarity of their rock formations dotting the plains couldn’t fill.

Observing from a port side transparisteel viewer, Kix had seen better. He’d seen worse, too.

He was one of two passengers on this Imperial transport to Lothal—the other was a droid of some make that Kix hadn’t paid attention to for the duration of the trip, once he double checked that his stowed weapon was easily accessible from the luggage sitting at his feet. The droid didn’t resemble a battle droid in the slightest, but the tinny sound of its joints moving and head swiveling still made some recess of Kix’s mind jumpy.

They landed in the Imperial Command Center, a large building that succeeded in copying the stifling sterility of the Empire. Everything in the open hangar suffered from a bleak, uniform grayness, somehow even paling the woman in blue who waited just out of reach of the boarding ramp when it fell.

Her blonde hair, poking out from under an absurd hat reminiscent of those rock formations, was the only flourish of personality that separated her from her fellow gray Imperials who milled about further in the room. A haughty tilt to her head that required she look down her nose to see anything, she glanced repeatedly from Kix to the datapad in her hands once it was clear he was the only human arriving. And Kix had made sure he was the first one off the transport.

“CT-6116?” she asked with a bewilderment that seemed foreign on her face. This was an official who didn’t like to be bewildered; like any good Imperial she must have just liked being in charge.

“Kix, if you please,” he said. If she had his clone wars record—which the Empire still kept around after all clones were forcibly retired a decade and a half ago—then her confusion must have stemmed from the fact that he looked nothing like his days in the war. For one, he had a full head of graying hair, and two, a very impressive goatee that Kix was quite proud of. “Look here,” he added, pointing to his left temple, “you can still see the edge of my tattoo, if it helps.”

The blonde woman lost most of her vexation at that, because clearly no one would be mad enough to commit to facial tattoos just to fake an identity. She stowed the datapad and her air of authority returned in full. “Welcome to Lothal City… Kix. I am Minister Maketh Tua, I oversee the Empire’s industrial vision here and I was the one to hire you.”

“I live to serve,” Kix said with a slight bow. He’d learned early on to keep the derision out of his voice when he said that line—and for whatever reason, Imperials always seemed a little more at ease once it was out of his mouth. The Minister was no different.

“Your duty will be tending to the local factory workers, who’ve suffered from the lack of a qualified doctor for ages. If, however, we have Imperials that need your attention, they take priority. Understood?”

“I’m familiar with the standard practice of the Empire, yes.”

The Minister paused as if she wanted to contest his opinion, but instead turned toward the door on the opposite wall. “Follow me, I’ll show you to your workstation.”

…

On the other side of Lothal City, an unusual amount of dust blew into the cantina with the customers today, and Ezra Bridger’s task every other time—between bussing tables and running orders out to people—was sweeping that tenacious dust right back out. But there would never be a way to truly clean this old cantina, Ezra knew. By now he’d accepted that it was part of the charm, just like the memorabilia from the Clone War decorating the walls and the entire nose of a clone transport crowning the roof of the inn. It was surprising the Imperial occupiers allowed this ode to a former era when not much else was.

Ezra’s black hair flopped wildly as he bounced between his jobs, but he always maintained that perky demeanor of a fourteen-year-old. He had worked at Old Jho’s Inn for several years already. Officially, anyway. He lurked around the building for years before that, earning odd jobs here and there from a sympathetic Ithorian who was well aware of the fact that Ezra had been parentless since the age of seven. The sympathy lasted until Ezra was eleven when Old Jho gave up and hired the boy to service the first floor cantina and second floor rooms. The rooms were mostly for passing spacers in between jobs. The cantina was mostly for the locals.

Ezra had just stowed the broom in its corner when the front door slid open and a couple of humans entered. The one Ezra recognized was a kindly looking market vendor who took a seat at the bar.

“Afternoon, Mr. Jenn,” Ezra greeted despite the dust. “The usual?”

Mr. Jenn nodded. “Thanks, Ezra.”

Old Jho himself had discarded his task of wiping down the bar in favor of chatting with Jenn until Ezra returned with a warm plate. The adult’s hushed conversation of Imperial developments in the marketplace pricked Ezra’s ears, but the second Ezra set down the plate in front of Mr. Jenn, Jho shooed Ezra back to work. It was an unfair double standard: he was as curious about the current affairs happening in his own town as anyone else, yet because he was only a teenager, all the adults preferred to keep these conversations away from him, like being ignorant of the facts would protect him.

Ezra would’ve protested if other customers hadn’t been waiting, and wiping his hands on his discolored apron, he hurried to a booth where a gray-haired stranger sat. The man was so engrossed in inspecting the clone wars-era painted logos and pin-ups decorating the walls that he didn’t even notice Ezra. He was clearly not from around here: he had enough hair to pull back into a bun which was a lack of efficiency not attempted in the capital. Not to mention it looked ridiculous.

“Hey there, welcome to Old Jho’s. We’ve got a special today: buy a side of shavaca-do, get three free.”

The man looked at Ezra, a quiet confidence surrounding him like a glow, and Ezra wasn’t sure whether to feel safe or wary around him. “How is that making you a profit?”

“We just really need to get rid of it at this point,” Ezra said. Its popularity on the neighboring planet Garel did nothing to affect the opinions on the natives of Lothal.

The stranger only chuckled. “I’ll have the burger special—no shavaca-do. And if Jho’s around, tell him I’d like to see him.”

Ezra looked the man up and down before taking his order to the kitchen. He’d never heard that accent in his life, making him wonder just where in the galaxy that man came from. Strangers didn’t know locals by name, but when they did it usually meant trouble. While stormtroopers could never be counted on for actual defense, Ezra always took comfort in the fact that he had a concealed slingshot built into his left cuff, and was a fantastic aim—if he was being humble.

It was no wonder the man hadn’t seen Jho, as the Ithorian still stood hunched at the bar, gossiping with Mr. Jenn. It still surprised Ezra that the translator machine wrapped around Jho’s bent neck managed to filter his speech low enough to not be overheard by the patrons sitting in the nearby booths.

Their conversation frustratingly petered out once more as Ezra approached. They both regarded him politely, as if waiting for him to leave again so they could continue their discussion.

“Jho, some new guy wants to talk to you,” Ezra said, pointing to the man in the booth who still found interest in looking at the decorative war posters and clone helmets. Mr. Jenn had no qualms with letting Jho leave the conversation, and he was perfectly content with eating his lunch in peace, even though Ezra prompted him with a, “So… anything new happening in the market today?”

“Same old, same old, Ezra,” said Mr. Jenn, shoulders bent with a weariness that all locals wore anymore. From the terrified whispers earlier that day, Ezra already gleaned how stormtroopers had arrested Vorann, a Rodian vendor in the market, and shut down his stall. It was the third arrest that week, and yet none of the adults had let Ezra in on the conversation when these matters were discussed. There really weren’t any benefits to being a teenager on Lothal.

“Ezra!” Jho called, spindly fingers beckoning him back to the stranger. “I want you to meet someone.” If Jho knew the man then Ezra had no cause to be apprehensive.

“Ezra, this is my old friend, Kix. He helped me acquire half the decorations for the inn when I was just starting up the business.”

Kix’s nod lacked any degree of humility usually seen on Lothal. “I’m more impressed the Imps haven’t confiscated all of them yet.”

“Just gotta know how to negotiate,” Jho chuckled through his translator. “So what brings you here after all these years? Bad time to be on the run, I hear.”

“A job opened up, actually. The factory workers needed a doctor and the Empire called on me. They gave me everything except a place to stay! Par for the course, really. I wanted to see if you had space available for me to rent for the foreseeable future.”

“Don’t think of paying!” Old Jho said. “I still owe you one—we’ll get you a key and you can stay as long as you need.” The cook called from the kitchen that an order was ready, and Ezra dutifully retrieved it. On his way to Kix’s table with the meal, he found Jho sorting through a drawer behind the bar.

“Jho,” he whispered, “what are you thinking?! He’s helping the Empire!”

“He’s helping the factory workers—people from Lothal,” Jho said sternly. He plucked out a key card and slid it on the tray next to the utensils. “And Force knows they need all the help they can get.”

Ezra glowered at the mention of the _Force_. People often called upon it, but it’s not like there was some benevolence interacting in their lives and saving them from the iron fist that squeezed the city tighter each passing day. Ezra delivered Kix’s plate of food with a distrustful expression back in place.

While Kix had accepted the room for free, he protested the mention of free meals. Good thing, too, or else Ezra would’ve really had to talk to Jho about good business practice.

If there was one thing Ezra knew after working a job for three years, it was good business practice.

…

Over the coming week, Kix integrated into his role as doctor. The last person previously slated as medic for local factory workers had been an Imperial with the bare minimum knowledge of first aid, and for any injury requiring more than a plast-aid, he recommended them to the hospital. Except the factory hardly gave workers time off to go to the hospital.

Kix worked full twelve-to-fourteen hour days, and most nights he didn’t even make it back to the inn in time for dinner.

One afternoon, two stormtroopers interrupted his line of patients to escort him back to the Imperial Complex where an officer needed medical attention. Kix followed them to the staging floor, a bay where supplies and tech lined the duracrete expanse in some semblance of organization, to be loaded onto ships on the equally large landing pad just outside the doors.

The officer in question was Commandant Cumberlayne Aresko, a long-faced man with a sickly pallor that turned out to be his normal skin tone. A stack of crates had fallen on him and while nothing was cut or broken, his ensuing unresponsiveness prompted others to send for Kix. A thicker-built imperial, Taskmaster Grint, hovered. He showed so much worry that Kix had to wonder if Grint wasn’t the one to push the crates onto Aresko himself. Grint was too preoccupied with worry to help the handful of stormtroopers a meter away from them re-stack the fallen crates.

As Kix shone a light into Aresko’s eyes, a passing group caught his attention—Minister Tua and two stormtroopers, headed for the outside landing pad. Following the sound of a standard Imperial ship, they returned with an additional member, someone dressed in sleek black armor who walked with too much personality to be an Imperial. It wasn’t one of the variety of troopers that now populated the army in all colors of armor spanning the spectrum from white to gray to black; this was something else entirely.

“Always something interesting going on here, I see.” Kix nodded in the direction of the group entering a turbolift, and Taskmaster Grint paused his worry long enough to pick up on it.

“I always steer clear of Force-users. Nothing good ever comes from havin’ ‘em around.”

“I thought the Jedi were wiped out,” Kix said, his voice low and all attention off of Aresko.

“They were,” Grint said matter-of-factly. “ _That’s_ an inquisitor.”

Kix paused a moment. “What’s he inquiring about?”

“What?”

…

Ezra found it difficult to maintain suspicion of Kix when the old man was almost never around. As Ezra didn’t live in Old Jho’s Inn, he was already gone for the day every time the doctor returned to his room. Out of sight, out of mind, and Ezra fell back into to his daily routine, unbothered.

The front door swooshed open to admit a cloud of dust swirling through the streams of warm afternoon light, and Ezra grabbed the broom with a groan. The hooded customer to enter, however, stood right in the middle of the dust, making Ezra’s job much harder. His threadbare cloak had seen harsher climates than here on Lothal, and it hardly seemed fit to protect either the human underneath or the security chest he carried under one arm.

There was something about this stranger, beyond his physical appearance—standing near him made Ezra’s fingertips prickle and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. But it wasn’t a sense of danger, like when shiny white-clad stormtroopers passed through the market and Ezra was holding merchandise in his hands.

This was… something else.

“Uh… can I help you?” Ezra asked.

The man looked in every other possible direction before finding Ezra under his nose. He pulled back his hood to expose a head of dark hair and a yellow stripe across his face, just under his eyes. Either he was a near-human species, or he was a human from a planet with a strange fashion sense.

“A room,” he said in a strained voice; Lothal dust usually did that to a person. Ezra diligently scuttled behind the bar to grab a key card from the drawer only for the man to snatch it right out of Ezra’s hand without a word of thanks. Heading for the stairs, he muttered, “Don’t disturb me.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Ezra muttered in reply. Old Jho’s Inn may have been the only inn in this sector of Lothal City, but it certainly wasn’t anything fancy. Some spacers came from rims closer to the core worlds with wild ideas of service. Like food brought directly to their rooms when the cantina was a staircase away, or morning wake up calls.

Ezra took to the invasive dust again, not even thinking of the stranger until he appeared that evening around dinnertime.

The first floor cantina received much more patronage at lunch when the market was open and workers on break needed to grab convenient food. Evenings were a different story because hardly anyone ventured away from home with the rumors of an unwritten curfew in effect. The dinner crowd was usually made up of just the customers rooming at the inn. Lately that crowd numbered fewer and fewer, and tonight it was just…

The man with the stripe, now devoid of both cloak and security chest, took a seat at the bar, and Ezra popped up in front of him with the same energy as if it were midday.

“Gimme the fried nerf special,” the man said with a gesture that was too lazy to even point at the menu board. “And something strong to drink.”

“How strong?” Ezra asked.

“ _Kriffin’_ strong, kid.”

“We’ve got lighter fluid in the kitchen and engine oil out back. Do either of those work for you?” Ezra saw the stranger’s teeth at that. The man didn’t immediately harden back to his original gruff manner, either, as if he was savoring a rare feeling.

“At this point,” he sighed, “I wouldn’t say no to either.”

Ezra slipped into the kitchen to place the order with the cook before continuing his usual routine tidying the cantina. He found himself glancing at the stranger while wiping down booths and again while taking a broom to the entire floor. Ezra knew this was a spacer, but he didn’t feel like one of the opportunists who came to Lothal expecting to easily scam naive people on a backwater world. His palms still prickled in his presence, which seemed like it should be a warning of some sort, but Ezra knew it wasn’t. Even though he wasn’t sure how he knew.

“Order up!” the cook called from the kitchen as a loaded plate slid onto the counter. Ezra tossed the broom against the nearest wall and zipped behind the bar to deliver the meal to the stranger. He already had his drink; Jho poured it because Ezra still wasn’t allowed to serve alcohol.

There really weren’t any benefits to being a teenager on Lothal.

The man looked just as unimpressed with the meal Ezra pushed in front of him as he did with his drink. But he dug in with the intensity of someone who hadn’t eaten in days. Ezra related to that feeling a little too well.

Ezra returned to his sweeping even though he was bursting with questions to ask. Like where was the man from, or what was he doing here. More importantly: did he have any stories to tell? In Ezra’s experience, other people’s stories were the only way for him to visit the galaxy.

The floor was dust-free by the time Ezra returned to the bar to find the man done with his meal.

“I’ll take a second round,” he said, pushing the plate towards Ezra. The cook grunted acknowledgment when Ezra placed the order in the kitchen, leaving Ezra with nothing else to do except return to the bar and wipe down what Jho already cleaned not fifteen minutes earlier. Only slower. The man, though, seemed to stare straight through the wall ahead of him.

“Just come back from a long journey?” Ezra asked. He earned the stranger’s suspicious stare. “A lot of spacers order as much food here as possible after living off of ration cubes.”

No reply.

He tried again after clearing his throat—but his voice still cracked: “So, what’s your name?” Ezra had no theory or expectation for what exactly made this man different, but he would find out.

The stranger watched him over that bright yellow stripe. With his eyebrows just as flat, he looked doubly unimpressed.

“My name’s Ezra,” he volunteered, completely abandoning his ruse of cleaning the bar top. “Ezra Bridger.”

The man shoved his chin into his hand as he leaned on the bar, dark eyes tight, and Ezra felt the full brunt of his inspection. His fingertips prickled again.

“How old are you, Ezra Bridger?”

“Fourteen.”

The man’s stern eyes glazed over then; math usually did that to a person. He came back around and his hand dropped from his face along with his interest. His eyes fell to his drink and he swirled it around. “What a time to be alive,” he mumbled.

“Sorry?”

“Name’s Vos,” he said with renewed interest, as if on a second wind. “Nice to meet you, Ezra.”

“You too. Gonna be on Lothal for awhile, Vos? Wish I could recommend anything interesting about this place but… we honestly have nothing going for us.”

An easy smile rocked on Vos’ face. “Sounds perfect. I’ll be around until I decide what to do nex—” His attention diverted to the door so quickly that even Ezra braced himself. But no one entered. Not even the stormtrooper roving guard was heard stomping down the street, and they usually competed to see who could make the most noise at night. Vos eased himself back into his seat with difficulty. “Actually, I’ll take that meal to go.”

Before Ezra could voice his confusion, the cook shouted, “Order up!” and a plate slid onto the back counter. Vos grabbed it right out of Ezra’s hands and bounced up the stairs to his room, leaving Ezra to stare after him as the sensation in his palms dulled with the distance.

Jho emerged from the back room he used as his office a minute later and dimmed the first floor lights. “Thanks for all your help today, Ezra. Go on home.”

The stillness blanketing the city heightened Ezra’s expectation that something was going to happen as he returned home to his tower, which stood well outside the reach of town. But he didn’t pass a soul. He just spent the majority of that journey wildly checking his surroundings for no reason. Maybe Vos’ antics had influenced him because an odd, queasy feeling took hold of his gut, and Ezra couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.

His morning commute was much better, and Ezra reached the inn by his usual time to clean the second floor just before the lunch rush began. He ran into Vos exiting his room, empty plate in hand.

Vos stopped, a sudden friendliness about him. “Ezra, can you do me a favor?”

Ezra grimaced at a line all too common.

“Keep an eye out for… unscrupulous people. I’m trying to lie low and people out there are trying to find me.”

“That’s really vague,” Ezra said, mouth suspended waiting for a punchline because strangers—especially spacers—always kept their problems to themselves. Who in their right mind would share their real business with a teenager?

“Well, I don’t exactly know who’s after me, I just know they _are_. They make you feel sick to your stomach just to be near them. If they come for me, Ezra, give me a heads up, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

Ezra wanted to tell Vos of better plans—like not to entrust his life to a fourteen-year-old who only worked at the inn part time. But the intensity in Vos’ eyes was borderline hypnotic, and along with the prickling in his hands that started out so subtle, Ezra found himself nodding.

“Sure, yeah. I guess I can—” But Vos was already down the stairs.

His cleaning routine slowed that morning with his mind preoccupied by Vos’ words. Perhaps the odd feeling that had washed over him last night, the feeling that must’ve hurried Vos away after dinner, was what Vos meant. It was also a good idea to tell Jho, and maybe the kitchen workers. But then again, they kept things like this away from Ezra all the time on account of him being a teenager. Ezra could leave them out of it this time. He _told_ himself it was to be selfless and not put even more on their plates than they already had. But there was a little accusatory voice in the back of his head telling him he was just trying to prove he was capable of something like this—and that he really should tell an adult. Ezra swatted that voice away.

This secret carried him through the day with higher enthusiasm than normal, because sure he interacted with all the local lunch customers, but he was _really_ looking out for unscrupulous people on Vos’ behalf. Amid the diligence, Ezra couldn’t help noticing Jho droop throughout the day. His effort to greet every customer waned, he personally fielded fewer orders throughout the day, and he spent half the day in the office.

Ezra only approached him after dinner, when the lights were dim for nighttime cleaning. He found the Ithorian hunched in his office, tapping away on an old ‘pad. “Hey, Jho, everything all right?”

The Ithorian jumped in his seat, but his expression bent into guilt.

“Just business things, Ezra, go on home.” Even with a translator, Jho sounded different when he lied. Ezra had always had a sense for when people lied to him, a nagging feeling in the back of his head along with a twisting in his chest.

“Jho, tell me the truth. Something’s off.”

His boss sighed and scrolled back up through the datapad. “The Empire’s bad for business, you know. I’ve been steadily losing money with folks afraid to leave their houses at night, or be seen outside too early in the morning. Customers come mostly for the cantina anymore, not the lodging and I… I can’t afford to keep employing the full staff.”

Ezra’s stomach dropped. He knew his job was the most expendable, as he was the most limited by what he _could_ do. He wasn’t old enough to work in the kitchen, he wasn’t old enough to serve alcohol. There really weren’t any benefits to being a teenager on Lothal.

“I can pay you until the end of the month,” Jho continued, “but after that I’m… gonna have to let you go, Ezra. I’m sorry.”

Everything about Ezra froze. What he said to Jho—if he said anything—failed to reach his own ears; the next thing he knew, he was outside, the light from the twin moons paving his way home in a dull glow. He walked as if he wasn’t in control of his own body, just a passenger in an automatic vehicle.

His gut twisted as his deluge of memories faded into fears. It was the same distress he’d felt when his parents were first taken away—panic, at a complete loss of how to carry on in a world suited to adults. The aching abandonment, like a sharp stab to the lungs with every breath.

This job had at least given him purpose, and a sliver of respect from people. Without it, he’d just be some orphan on the street, struggling to get by.

Ezra tried to breathe. His chest was tight. Too tight. He stopped walking just to catch his breath, leaning against the wall of the last building before the empty expanse that opened beyond the city. From here on it turned into a solitary walk, where no one but Ezra traveled because he was the only one to live out this far, in a tower all by himself. A long walk, where no one could hear him cry. It gave his mind time to assault him with Jho’s words on repeat, and taunt Ezra with rebuttals he could’ve attempted, like demanding Jho’s friend Kix pay rent instead of living for free and costing Ezra his job.

Halfway home, Ezra stopped when a cold shiver shot down his spine. He wiped his face and glanced back to the silence of Lothal City. It slept like any other night, gray and cold, but it _felt_ like a panic had awoken—outside of himself, outshining his own anguish. Ezra had no idea why, but Vos immediately flashed to mind, and the image spurred him to sprint back to town.

Old Jho’s Inn was in view when Ezra heard a dull crash that made his palms prickle. Ezra flipped the concealed energy slingshot out of his left cuff as he slid into the cantina. Jho peered out from his office door in the back corner. One glance told Ezra he was fine, just shaken. Another crash rocked the floor above them.

“Ezra! Don’t go up there!” Jho called as Ezra took the stairs two at a time. Ezra’s surprise at his own determination only kicked in when he reached the second floor, but by then the scuffle emanating from Vos’ open door banished all thought.

Ezra ran to the doorway with his energy slingshot crackling taut to find a slender black-armored figure fighting Vos. The foe wielded a humming red blade while Vos fended him off with the remaining half of his chair. Just when the stranger lifted his blade to strike, Ezra released his sling. A direct hit to the black helmet. The shot sent his whole body staggering to the side. He whipped his head around and from the black facemask stared two bright yellow eyes. They pierced through Ezra and that feeling of sickness punched him right in the gut.

Vos lunged forward with a scream and pinned the attacker between the chair and the wall. The red weapon fell in the ensuing barrage of punches landed by Vos, and the blade retracted before the semicircle metal hilt clattered to the floor.

In the span it took for Ezra to consider rushing in and grabbing the weapon, the fighters were moving again—their speed inhuman. Black Armor pushed Vos away, and his weapon seemed to jump back into his hands of its own accord. He stabbed forward as Vos swung the only thing he had left: the chair legs. There were pained noises and close quarter movement and all of a sudden Vos had the red blade in his hands. It stuck right out of black armor’s chest. The blade disintegrated and the attacker crumpled with a final wheeze.

Vos himself staggered, and for the first time, Ezra saw that his shirt was punctured from his own stab wounds.

He pointed to his belongings in the corner next to the tousled bed as he fell to his knees. “Chest—bring it…”

Ezra crossed the room in one bound to grab the security chest doing a poor job of hiding under Vos’ cloak. It looked no more than twenty pounds, but acted like it was attached to the floor.

“Concentrate,” Vos groaned from behind him. Though that could’ve just been him talking to himself, at this point.

Ezra tried again, lifting with all his strength. An odd feeling swept over him, like he was tapping into a power outside of himself, but all around him, that helped him lift and carry the chest to Vos.

The man now propped himself on one arm and every breath was a struggle. “This hurts a lot more than it looks,” he hissed through gritted teeth. He punched in a code on the touchpad embedded in the front of the chest and the lid swung open to reveal… junk. A couple of datapads with cracked screens were buried under small mechanical pieces that looked like they were pilfered from someone’s workbench. The only valuable item was a small credit bag, but that wasn’t enough to warrant a security chest.

“This inquisitor was after the treasure map. More will come now—” Vos hissed again, clutching his side.

“Come on, we’ve gotta get you to a doctor,” Ezra said, but Vos carried on as if he hadn’t heard him.

“Take it. I don’t care if you follow it or bury it, just don’t let them get it.” Vos fished out a datapad from under scrap metal and held it out. Footsteps echoed from the hallway as Ezra flipped it around in his hand expecting it to look a little more extraordinary than regular datapads.

“It’s a treasure map? Are you serious?” he asked with half a smile. Even though he hardly knew Vos, he wouldn’t put it past the man to go out with a joke.

“Jedi treasure. Don’t let them get it, Ezra.” His face, contorted in pain, was quite serious.

Kix barged into the room then, taking one look at the damage before hunkering down on Vos’ other side and ripping Vos’ shirt away from his injuries in assessment.

Neither Vos nor Ezra paid any attention to the doctor.

“A Jedi can open it,” Vos said, hissing again as Kix worked. “But anyone who says they’re a Jedi is either a liar or a ghost. You’ll”—he groaned, and his head lolled—“open it f…ine.” His bracing arm failed and Vos slumped against the floor.

Ezra finally glanced at Kix, expectant.

“He woulda needed an operation to survive a lightsaber wound to the gut,” Kix said, tan eyes bent in just as much sympathy as Ezra’s. “Not even the nearest Imperial hospital has the equipment for an operation that precise.”

Old Jho poked his eyes into the room now that the scuffle stopped, followed by the rest of him. “What happened in here?” His question was so soft it hardly disturbed the heavy silence.

Ezra glanced down at the ‘pad in his hand. “He said that inquisitor was after this. A map to a Jedi treasure.”

“I wouldn’t exactly equate the Jedi with wealth,” Kix said.

“Did you know them?” Ezra demanded, wide eyes immediately on him.

“Aye. You did, too,” Kix said, nodding to Vos.

Questions swirled in Ezra’s head, sparking as quickly as the automatic assumptions that clicked into place—like the prickling reactions Ezra felt when Vos was around. But he still found himself blurting, “How did you know?”

Kix leaned over the body to rifle through Vos’ security chest—which didn’t seem like a doctorly thing to do at all, in Ezra’s opinion. And because Vos entrusted the map to him, Ezra also felt a certain possessiveness over the rest of the chest, as well. At this point, Kix was basically rooting through Ezra’s things. But a moment later Kix pulled out a long, cylindrical object and Ezra’s offence simmered.

“He had this,” Kix said, handing it over. It weighed Ezra’s hand down like a rock. For a moment Ezra wondered how he could’ve mistaken this for junk earlier, despite being camouflaged among the other broken and rusty parts. He pushed the button near the top and a green blade sprang forth, humming as if alive. Ezra shut it off with a scream.


	2. The Captain

****Ezra’s hands shook as he sat in a booth in the back of the cantina. The dim glow from the overheads buzzed with a harshness Ezra had never noticed before, especially at this late hour. The lightsaber and datapad sat on the table in front of him, sparking recollections of Vos fighting that attacker in black armor whenever Ezra looked at them.

Old Jho and Kix had sent him downstairs ahead of them, no doubt on account of him being a teenager. For only being fourteen, it would’ve been nice to say that Ezra had never seen death so close and so vividly before. But Lothal had strained under Imperial occupation too long to avoid deadly public clashes between locals and white-clad enforcers from time to time. For once, Ezra was relieved the adults chose not to involve him in the matters at hand.

When they joined him in the booth downstairs, they brought with them a somberness that weighted the air even more. Ezra wasn’t claustrophobic, but then again he’d never experienced the emptiness of the cantina being so stifling.

“What’re we gonna do?” Ezra asked, voice shaking.

Jho cleared his throat, an interesting sound with a translator. “You know, Ezra, I think you should go for this. Get off of Lothal and see about finding this treasure. It’ll keep you away from…” Just as his voice petered off, the heavy sound of roving stormtroopers passed by outside. Ezra half expected them to enter citing a noise complaint, but their footsteps faded.

“Hate to break it to you,” Kix said, “but _that_ is everywhere in the galaxy. And anything the Empire doesn’t control is replaced with whatever gang or Hutt owns it.”

“There’s at least a better chance for him off of this dustball,” Jho argued.

Ezra swallowed. The Empire had never been benevolent; they took his parents from him over half a decade ago, after all. Yet Ezra had never planned to pursue a life elsewhere. Maybe his head was still too dogged by everything else that had happened tonight, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around the thought of leaving.

“Let’s check the map, first,” Kix said with a stroke of his goatee. “See if it’s even legitimate.”

The weight of their gazes fell on Ezra. He pushed the power button on the datapad. After a couple seconds of no response, he pressed the button again but still nothing happened. Jho suggested it might’ve lost power while locked in Vos’ chest, and retrieved a power cord from his office. The three of them congregated around the bar where the ‘pad could plug in and charge, but the cord didn’t fit into the port.

“Wait,” Kix said, pulling the ‘pad out of Ezra’s hands. “This is a karkin’ _old_ model—still uses datasticks.” He ejected a thin piece of plasti, about the size and length of his thumb, from the side of the device.

“I don’t have any tech that can support that,” Jho said, whole head shaking. Ezra looked from one adult to the other, surprised that two people so old didn’t have technology equally ancient.

“This is compatible with clone wars-era equipment, which they discontinued at the start of the Empire,” Kix said. Ezra found himself leaning over the bar just at that scrap of information far more interesting than most things on Lothal. Kix set down the ‘pad, saying, “We’ll have to dig up a decades-old relic just to _read_ the data.”

Kix’s inclusive language sparked a suspicion in Ezra that pushed him back into his original defensiveness. “You want part of the treasure, don’t you?” Ezra accused, eyes narrowing as he took in the doctor.

Kix laughed at that. “Kid, I still don’t believe there _is_ a treasure. But if this turns into a real thing, you’re gonna need a medic.” There was a genuineness to Kix that Ezra had only seen in locals he truly trusted, like Mr. Jenn and Old Jho. There was also a magnanimity which the friends of his parents couldn’t afford to offer, and because it was such a rare commodity, Ezra couldn’t gauge its genuineness. He couldn’t deny the thought of Kix traveling with him sparked a begrudging feeling of safety, either.

The adults buried Vos and the inquisitor that night, somewhere they wouldn’t even tell Ezra.

…

The next day dawned and carried on the same as ever. Miles away from Lothal City, where the largest structures were the randomly occurring rock formations, a small auxiliary ship poking out of the tall grass barely stood out when dwarfed by a neighboring cruiser parked several hundred meters away.

Hera Syndulla, possibly the only Twi’lek on all of Lothal, inventoried each crate her orange astromech pulled out of their little ship, alongside their Devaronian buyer. Hera had complete faith that her droid wouldn’t withhold any items from a buyer—because after a decade and a half together, there wasn’t anyone in the galaxy she trusted more—but she was all too familiar with buyers lying that the full shipment was missing.

The crates ended up lined more or less in a row, all the T7 ion disruptors inside accounted for, Hera noted with a smile. Their green Devaronian buyer checked off the last of the weapons on his datapad, and a pointy-toothed grin spread across his face as well.

“One of these days you’ll have to tell me your secret to smuggling things past the Empire,” he said, offering her a stack of credits.

“If I did that, Vizago, I’d be out of a job,” Hera retorted with no trace of humor as she yanked the payment from his hands. Everyone she supplied wanted to know her secret, because they begrudged how much money she charged for her smuggling runs. As she explained over and over, it took money to elude the thoroughness and organization of the Empire—whether her buyers believed that or not was their own fault.

Their business concluded and Vizago’s tall droids already moving the shipment into his cruiser, Hera climbed back into her ship, the _Phantom_ , and set a low-altitude course for Lothal City. After the long route she had to take from Garel just to slip past Imperial customs, she needed a place where she could dock and refuel.

“This is great, Chop!” she called to her droid halfway through her third recount. “These credits’ll last us almost a month, now. We might be able to get that shield upgrade if we can talk down the price by… okay, by half. But it’s possible!” Because of course she had to set some credits aside for savings—how else could she ever buy herself an intergalactic ship capable of hyperspace? The _Phantom_ had gotten her through numerous close calls, but it still didn’t have the capabilities to get her out of the Lothal system.

Chopper rolled to a stop next to the lone pilot’s seat and beeped at her.

“Yeah, we’ll get you your oil, don’t worry.”

Black Imperial industry was sooner spotted on the horizon than the city it cut into. The rest of the capital had escaped invasive modification, which was where life flourished. The refueling docks jutting from the spaceport were unusually crowded today, and Hera had to land near the far end, as larger and public ships had priority at the front. The docks narrowed out here, perfect for her compact auxiliary size. She landed the _Phantom_ in between two sleeker models who probably didn’t lack their matching main ship, unlike Hera.

Despite not making it beyond the Lothal system in years, Hera dressed like a galactic pilot, her orange flight suit bright amid the drabness of the other spacers milling about as she made her way to the booth guarding the dock entrance. For the station being so busy, there was only one man in front of her, his gray hair pulled back into a bun, and in a heated conversation already with the Rodian behind the booth window.

“I just need a look at the roster,” he pleaded.

“For the last time, you’re not a captain,” the Rodian retorted.

“I know, I'm trying to find a captain to hire, that's all I need!”

“Does this look like a temp agency to you, pal?”

Hera’s lekku shivered at the sheer luck. Chopper bumped into her leg, not that she needed any encouragement.

“Excuse me, I couldn't help overhearing,” she interrupted, tapping the man on the shoulder until he turned around. “But anywhere you need to get to within the Lothal system, I can take you.”

The man smiled kindly—or was that a wince?—and just as he opened his mouth for what was probably a rejection, his eyes fell on Chopper.

“Would you accompany me to Old Jho’s Inn? There are a couple of locals there interested in traveling.”

While this wasn’t the sketchiest offer she’d ever gotten, it was certainly up there. However his voice was chillingly familiar, like a ghost straight out of the past, too incorporeal for her recollection to grasp. Had she met him before? “Sure… after I refuel.”

The Rodian worker paused his holonet scrolling to log in Hera, and looked less friendly for it.

“Captain Syndulla,” she reported, “dock 36.”

When she turned back to the man, his disposition had shifted, and he smiled friendly enough for himself and the miffed Rodian. “Name’s Kix, by the way, nice to meet you, Captain Syndulla!”

…

The daily lull hit when customers unenthusiastically dragged themselves back to their jobs after lunch, leaving Ezra more time to bus tables. He'd moved slower today; his smiles for customers took more effort. Only half of the cluttered tables managed to be cleared before Kix entered with a green-skinned Twi’lek and an astromech.

Ezra wiped his hands on his apron when Kix called him over, and a smile came automatically at the introduction of _Captain_ Hera Syndulla. Jho joined them in the empty cantina.

“Are these the companions you mentioned?” Hera asked. Ezra would’ve been lost in the startling green of her eyes—quite different from her skin—if Kix laying a hand on his shoulder hadn’t jarred him back to the present.

“Yep, and Ezra here has a datastick to the destination, but none of our ‘pads can read it. I think your droid can, though.”

Ezra withdrew the stick from his pocket with more speed than he’d exerted all day, only to be met with a suspicious look from Hera.

“Hold on, you don’t _know_ where you want to go?”

Kix wavered one hand. “It’s complica—”

“This is a map to a Jedi treasure!” Ezra burst out. “But we can’t read it. If your droid can read it, then we’d know where it is!” Jho and Kix both tensed—Ezra could feel it without even seeing it—but there was something about Hera that Ezra intrinsically trusted. That tiny voice in the back of his head hoped it wasn’t just because she was a beautiful pilot, but Ezra was sure there was another reason. There had to be.

“I can’t stay,” Kix said as Hera accepted the datastick. “I’ve already taken a longer lunch break than normal, but I’ll be back tonight.” The front doors parted for him.

Jho dimmed the main overheads for the astromech, who ingested the datastick and spit out a blue-tinted holographic map of the galaxy. A sector automatically magnified, and Ezra was faced with an unfamiliar grouping of planets. Luckily for his limited astrographic knowledge, names floated under each large body, and one sphere pulsed a different color than the rest. Their destination.

“It's on a planet named Takar? In the Akujii System.”

“Nowhere near here,” Hera sighed.

“Have him go back to the whole view of the galaxy,” Ezra said. The droid made a sort of squawk, but one fist from Hera landing on his flat head provoked him into obliging. The scope of the Akujii System shrank into a tight grouping of only its largest planets on the bottom of a galactic map cluttered with pockets of similar clusters.

Ezra spent a full minute in silence, searching names for anything remotely familiar. On the opposite edge of the map—what he had to stand on his tiptoes to read clearly—he finally found his home squeezed between Mon Cala and Garel, a tiny dot so unfathomably far removed from everywhere else.

“And there’s really a Jedi treasure on Takar?” Hera asked, drawing Ezra’s attention back to her. Her chin hid in one of her gloves and the slant of her eyebrows was anything but the confidence Ezra hoped for.

Jho juggled his hands indecisively. “That’s what we were told. Kix doesn’t buy into it, but while it sounds fanciful, I don’t think an organization can exist as long as they did without… acquiring valuables.”

Ezra started. While he hadn’t exactly been betrayed in his fourteen years of life, he figured this was what it had to feel like. “Vos died for this!” he cried. “Why would an inquisitor waste time hunting him down and killing him for this map if it was fake?!”

Jho’s spindly hands gestured for Ezra to lower his voice, but it was Ezra’s fault Vos was dead in the first place—it had to be; he never warned Vos about the inquisitor like Vos asked him to. All that guilt and regret bubbled up in a burst of emotion. “He _said_ there were more inquisitors, and that they’d be coming for the map! We can’t let them have it! We have to go and find it first!” What did they have to lose, anyway? A glance around the cantina reminded him that not much was here on Lothal anymore. He’d be out of a job at the end of the month. And deep down, he knew he owed it to Vos.

Jho fidgeted in the newfound dark once the astromech cut off its holoprojector. It blurted out an ugly beep and ejected the stick. Ezra grabbed it before anyone else reached for it—a strangely fast reflex if he did say so himself, but then again he was particularly protective of Vos’ things now. The lights came back on.

“Exactly who all needs to get to Takar?” Hera asked.

Ezra looked to his boss of three years, but Jho shook his head.

“I can’t leave. I have a business to run.”

“Me, then,” Ezra said. “And I guess Kix, too. Maybe.”

The look Hera exchanged with her droid in the silence that followed hardly looked promising, so Ezra blurted: “You’ll get a share of the treasure for helping us!”

“Chopper and I need to talk this over,” Hera said evenly before retreating to a far corner of the cantina with her astromech.

Ezra was left with Jho.

“You don’t believe what Vos said was entirely true, do you?”

“I’ve heard a lot of stories from a lot of spacers, Ezra. I don’t want you to expect too much. But I also think the faster you get off planet, the better.”

A faint, cold fear gripped Ezra to see the apprehension in Jho’s eyes. Weariness he was used to because by now it was part of the local culture, but apprehension was new.

…

Hera knelt down next to Chopper, casting glances back at Ezra and the Ithorian to make sure they weren’t eavesdropping.

Chopper beeped first, in a huff.

“Listen, I didn’t promise them anything. But if we take this job, we’d get paid back ten times over or more if we found a treasure!”

A low blurt. Chopper’s two arms came out of either side of its flat domed head to bend, mimicking Hera’s usual posture of hands on her hips.

“ _I_ think it’s real. You saw how much my people suffered during the war, but still they gave so much to the Jedi in gratitude—money, food, possessions. We can’t be the only ones who did that. Chop, this could be the find of a lifetime!”

Chopper wanted to have a vote, and raised his thin arm in favor of staying with their local jobs.

Hera shot him a look. “Voting doesn’t work with just two people. Look, this is what we need to finally break back into the larger galaxy!”

He grunted at her, arm dropping.

“I _know_ we don’t have a ship. But we can get one.”

…

Medical bay overheads hummed, their sound as bleak as the stale light they produced. Kix only noticed this more today when his room lacked the usual population of patients waiting to see him. His first appointment of the day happened to be Maketh Tua, still in her very tall hat.

“Minister, what brings you by?” Kix asked, not bothering to vacate the seat he’d claimed as the office chair for his corner desk.

“You received the distributed message, I presume? All within the Empire must get their annual ulf shot this week. The Imperial doctor is swamped and I need to return to my work immediately.” She began the strenuous task of rolling up one of her tight uniform sleeves by the time Kix convinced himself to search the medbay. Most of the sparse supplies he sifted through he’d had to fight the Imperials just to get; he’d started out originally with nothing. But among the donations they begrudgingly spared, they had left out any ulf shots.

“I’ll make sure to give you an injection once I have them,” Kix said just as Maketh had forced her sleeve over her elbow. “Maybe you should go wait for the Imperial doctor after all.”

The Minister’s face screwed into an expression as tight as her personality.

“Imperial Headquarters should not be withholding supplies, this is outrageous! I will submit an inquiry myself and get this straightened out.”

Kix wasn't about to hold his breath. In the first ten years of the Empire, he experienced different regiments on a handful of worlds and the treatment was always the same: he occupied the space of a second-class citizen somewhere lower than undesirable locals and somewhere above droids.

“That’d be a great help, especially if the factory workers come in for annual shots—where are they, by the way?”

Minister Tua waved away his statement. “Oh, no, the shots are only for Imperial personnel; the locals are busy with preparations for Empire Day. We have something big planned for this year! It’s been _months_ in the making.” She actually beamed at the thought.

Kix’s jaw set. He paid little attention to Empire Day whenever it crept around each year because it meant something far different to him than it would to a devotee like Tua. “Ah. That explains the… new help. Your inquisitor.”

The minister unrolled her sleeve slowly. “He has nothing to do with local matters. The sooner he concludes his business and leaves… well.” She cleared her throat, as if realizing she wasn’t in the proper company to share her opinions.

“Well, if he’s in need of his annual shot, I hope he attends the _other_ medbay.”

…

Ezra hovered in the cantina after dinner, making sure to check if Hera needed another plate of food, or a drink refill. She’d decided to stay at the inn that night and Ezra returned to the back booth she sat in often, determined she lacked nothing.

Hera looked up each time, a perturbed expression on her face whenever Ezra interrupted her conversation with Chopper. But still, her looks weren’t as grumpy as some spacers who didn’t like Ezra hovering.

“We have a tea in the back that's not on the menu, because it's technically illegal to import now,” he offered. “Not for any health reasons, just because the Empire changed its mind, I guess, but it’s got a pretty nice taste and—”

“Fine!” huffed the captain. “Bring me the tea—just go back to your own work after that.”

Ezra shot into the kitchen and put water on the stove to boil. He darted in and around the cook who was on his way out for the night, avoiding collision in such a small space with the ease of a practiced routine, despite hardly stepping foot inside the kitchen. By the time he’d gathered the tea, a strainer, and a mug, the water still sat on the heat without so much as a bubble. It ignored Ezra’s stare growing more focused every second, but he was determined to—

His vision clouded as if a fog had rolled into the kitchen. Instead of a stove in front of him he saw himself, standing in a dark room looking out a single window, with nothing but the stars outside. The window turned blue, and a scream pulled Ezra out of his daydream.

The pot on the stove shrieked, spouting steam, and a sudden bump into Ezra’s hip signaled the arrival of Hera’s astromech, either yelling at Ezra or trying to join in on the noise. Ezra snatched the pot from the stove, but once he finished making Hera’s tea it was Chopper who carried the mug back into the cantina, leaving Ezra with no idea how long he’d been swept up in his imagination. It hadn’t been the first vision he’d ever experienced, but it was definitely the first one to look so clear.

Ezra brushed off the opportunity of putting things away in the kitchen in favor of shuffling as far out as the bar counter, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hera’s reaction to the tea. But he found Kix sitting across from her, in such animated conversation that all Hera could do was hold her cup.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice your sudden change after you heard my name,” Hera said.

“Aye, because clan Syndulla made a name for themselves back in the war, among the worlds that fought back.”

“You’re a clone, aren’t you?” Hera broached in as careful a voice as Ezra had heard yet. “I _knew_ there was something familiar about you. Were you involved on Ryloth?”

“That was before my time. But we all heard the stories,” said Kix. “But enough history! When do we leave?”

Hera cleared her throat. “I’ve got one more job lined up here on Lothal tomorrow, and then we should be good to go.”

Ezra had nothing else to do but slink back into the kitchen, a half-formed plan already circling his head. Sure, Hera hardly knew him and had no reason to assume a fourteen-year-old was reliable; what spacer would? Besides Vos of course, but he had been different.

Ezra would just have to prove himself.

…

Hera and Chopper took off in the _Phantom_ the next morning just as the sun began bleaching the purple clouds white. Maneuvering her ship was such a natural thing for her that her focus wandered; muscle memory took them into the lower atmosphere while her mind mapped out exactly how she was going to approach the task of asking for money.

A sharp beep from the console drew her out of her headspace and a red dot pulsed on a screen, pinpointing the problem on the diagram of her ship.

“Chop, check the stern—the weight distribution is off.”

Despite his grumbling, Chopper wheeled to the back. His loud rummaging was soon countered by an equally loud, “Hey, watch it!”

Hera hit the autopilot and spun out of her seat to find Chopper waving his thin arms like a trained fighter at the boy from the inn. His name escaped her completely, but he was now scrambling out from a compartment under the seats lining the side of the transport. Hera’s hands landed on her hips.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The boy jumped up to stand there, eyes wide, as if he’d never been caught in the history of his life. “I was just… tagging along. You know, in case you needed help. You seem to be new to the area and I’m a Lothal native so—”

“You boarded my ship without permission. Most inhabited worlds would make you pay the fine of a stowaway, but the Empire considers it piracy and they’re not content to just extract money.”

The kid visibly shook, and Chopper didn’t help matters by shocking him with his electric probe. The zap at least got him talking.

“Hey, sorry! I didn’t mean it, honest! I just wanted to see where you were going! I wasn’t trying to stow away—and I’m definitely not a pirate! I’ve never even _met_ a pirate!”

Hera had spent too much time around people out for their own gain. Anymore, her suspicion fired before her sympathy had even woken up. If this kid _was_ supposed to be part of the treasure hunting expedition, then maybe she didn’t have to jettison him out of the back of her ship like she would’ve done to anyone else.

She pointed to a seat on the opposite wall, closest to the bow. “Sit over here. When I land, stay on the ship and don’t touch anything.” He dove for the seat, averting his eyes as she returned to the pilot’s chair.

They flew in silence for what felt like ages before a farmstead came into view on the horizon. Hera hailed it. The comms crackled to life.

“ _Captain Syndulla, is that you?_ ” came a playfully incredulous voice that had her rolling her eyes within the first two words. “ _I wasn’t expecting you to call again so soon, I’m honored! What can I do for you?_ ”

“I have a business proposal for you, if you’ll hear me out.”

“ _Of course!_ ” For being so jovial, the voice lacked all sincerity.

“I’d like to speak to you in person. I’ll be landing in a minute.”

She terminated communication before her stowaway spoke up.

“Are you bringing someone else into this?”

Hera didn’t look back at him as she eased the ship onto the ground, but she could feel his confusion and distrust radiating from behind her.

“I’m just asking a friend for a favor, really,” she said.

“You’re lying.”

“You’re right,” she said, spinning the single pilot seat around to match his stare. “He’s not a friend.”

Hera made sure the boy stayed fixed in his seat before lowering the ramp, only to find Lando Calrissian approaching her ship with his arms wide as if ready for a hug.

“Just seeing you improves my day, Captain! Welcome back to the homestead.” His smile was all show, underlining how strange it was that a kid, more of a stranger than Lando, could exhibit greater sincerity.

Hera clomped down the ramp at a determined pace in hopes he would follow her away from potential eavesdroppers. Luckily for her, Lando followed. “Look, I’ve landed a job to the Akujii System, and I need to get my hands on a decent ship with hyperdrive capabilities. At this point, I can afford a fifth of one.” A really cheap one.

“So you’re looking for a financier?” Lando said, rubbing his chin. “I’ve got a pile of credits stashed away for when I’m in a pinch, but I confess I can’t see how buying _you_ a ship benefits _me_ at all.”

“A couple of guys have a map to a treasure. Help get them there and you’ll have a cut.”

“Akujii, huh?” The silence puddling between them as Lando silently considered her offer was somehow even more unsettling than his over-friendliness. “If I remember my astrography correctly, that’s on the other side of the galaxy.”

“…Roughly.”

“You’ll need more than a ship; you’ll need a crew.”

“A crew needs to be paid.”

“We’re hunting treasure, aren't we? A dozen spacers from any port would jump at the chance!”

“Wait a minute,” Hera intoned. “Do you plan to tag along?”

“If I'm financing the ship, I need to protect my investment! And as luck should have it, I keep my ear to the ground for potential job opportunities and I know for a fact that the Empire needs a shipment delivered. They’ll pay handsomely the sooner it’s picked up, and they’re contracting civilian ships. If you want a decent freighter, I need my cargo delivered to fully cover the cost, and then we can be on our way to the Akujii System.” Lando held out his hand.

Hera had no other option at her disposal. No one else she did business with had the kind of funds Lando had, and out of all those other clients, at least Lando bathed. She shook his hand.

“Perfect,” Lando said with a wide smile. “You’ll have a ship by the end of the day, Captain.”

…

It was quite possible that Maketh Tua had said something to someone, because halfway through the day, a droid rolled into Kix’s workspace with an entire crate of ulf shots. Just as mysterious as his sudden supply was the sudden knowledge by Imperials that he was stocked. A line of beige formed. Most of Kix’s patients were professional enough, waiting to be seen, following instructions, leaving without a word of thanks. But then a hat appeared in the doorway, just behind a tall officer.

As expected, the hat turned out to be on Tua’s head, and Kix motioned her to the next free medbed. Her blue outfit was the only spark of color in the entire room.

“Welcome back, Minister,” Kix said, though it was possible she didn’t hear him over her datapad reading. She dropped it onto the medbed to roll up her opposite sleeve and Kix took this opportunity at her attention. “I guess it’s fortunate timing that Empire Day is nearing, so there aren’t any factory workers to hold up the line.”

The look she gave him, indecisively hovering between hesitant and uncomfortable, was the face of someone who lacked a lifetime of exposure to various degrees of humor.

Kix assembled his necessary medical instruments on the bedside tray, interrupted by the chirping of Tua’s commlink.

“Yes, what is it?” she huffed.

“ _Minister_ ,” a curt voice announced, “ _you wanted to be notified when forty-eight hours had elapsed_.”

Tua vented a wearied groan. “Yes, all right, thank you.”

“Problem?” Kix asked

“It’s that inquisitor,” said Tua, sneering as if the very name inconvenienced her. “He’s failed to check in despite acknowledging our procedures.”

Kix sterilized the crook of her elbow. “Well, he seemed… the opposite of Imperial military. But I’m sure there’s a supervisor somewhere you could contact.”

“Yes, quite separate and apart from the military, I’m afraid. I was hoping to avoid more contact with them, if I waited long enough for the inquisitor to return I wouldn’t have to…” Kix administered her shot and Tua cleared her throat. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, though. Not exactly professional.”

“Not to worry, Minister. I faithfully abide by the standard practice of doctor-patient confidentiality,” Kix said with a smile.

…

Hera landed back in Lothal City halfway through the lunch hour, and the second the boarding ramp lowered, Ezra darted through the empty streets to Old Jho’s Inn. Running across a dust-covered floor, Ezra saw Jho hurry two plates out to a couple patrons sitting at the bar, apologizing for the delay. Then, as if radar was also built into his translation device, Jho’s eyes locked in on Ezra donning his apron. And bore into him.

“Sorry I’m late, Jho. I was—”

“Don’t stand there, get to work!” he snapped. Ezra complied with a bowed head; sure Jho had been irritated with him in the past, but never truly angry at him. But then again, Ezra had never been three hours late to work.

The dirty tables Jho hadn’t gotten to were bussed and the floor swept by the time Hera and Chopper entered. They found their preferred corner booth in the back and Ezra determinedly cleaned in their direction.

“I’ll take a meiloorun tea,” Hera said as if to a complete stranger.

Ezra shot a pout at her. “Why does your friend need you to deliver a shipment for the Empire?”

“You heard that, did you?” Her mouth formed a straight line, but nothing about her manner appeared embarrassed or even ashamed.

“They hurt people! How can you do business with the Empire when it just helps them out?!”

Hera’s green eyes flashed up. “Look, I’ve been around the Empire a lot longer than you, so I’m fully acquainted with how bad some people have it. But not everyone has the privilege of working independent of the most wide-spread organization in the galaxy. Lando needs money for our travel, and without him, we’re not getting off the ground. So take your moral superiority and stow it.”

Ezra’s chest tightened at her words, each one stabbing like a knife. He brought Hera her tea and then proceeded to avoid her the rest of the day.

 

Upside-down chairs lined the bar by the time Hera’s human contact, her “not a friend,” entered the inn that night. Ezra paused his last round of sweeping to study the dark-skinned man, now much closer than Ezra had seen him earlier that day. His charisma was practically colorful compared to the locals Ezra was used to, and the man focused friendly attention and an easy smile on anyone he spoke with. The first of his recipients happened to be Ezra.

“Good evening! Would you happen to know where Captain Syndulla is? I’m a friend; I have her ship ready to go.”


	3. The Delivery

Spacefarers sparked Ezra’s imagination from his earliest years, the way they wove their missions into epics about sailing past nebulae or planetary ice rings or purrgil. They left nothing but stars in his eyes to match the night sky and inspired jealousy and awe in equal parts.

He never expected to embark on a journey himself one day, and he especially never expected it to start like _this_.

Upon Hera’s glowing review of her new ship, she took her few belongings stashed at the inn and ran them to the ship with all the speed of a wanted criminal. Kix returned from work not long after, and he packed up his possessions, checking the streets carefully before heading for the spaceport himself. There was nothing exciting, nothing adventurous about sneaking around.

Somewhere in there, someone told Ezra to get his things—it might’ve been Kix, or Jho, or the voice in the back of his head. Ezra didn’t check the area for stormtroopers like everyone else; not when someone in black armor could be lurking down the next alley, or watching from the last rooftop. The ominous overlapping shadows latticing his path urged him to run until he was well out of reach of the city. Out here, one sweeping gaze assured him no one hid amid the rustling expanse of the planes surrounding him. Only the abandoned communications tower he’d made into a home loomed tall—an immediate reassurance of safety.

A familiarity of seven years welcomed Ezra back like a snug embrace, even though his tower boasted less comforts than Jho’s Inn. His small lamp scattered the snugness with stark, cold light; his home looked a little different now that he was seeing it for possibly the last time.

Ezra gravitated toward the security chest sitting atop the defunct transmission console—the chest had been here since the night Vos died. Ezra luckily caught the code when Vos entered it and now freely opened the chest whenever he wanted, like every night after work to look—just to look. The lightsaber still made Ezra’s hand tingle and he hadn’t quite plucked up the courage yet to really inspect Vos’—his—things. But Ezra braved the prickling sensation to retrieve the lightsaber from among the clutter, along with the only other thing that wasn’t in the same junk category as broken datapads and scrap metal: a blue and gold cube. His backpack hid his treasures, followed by the few clothes he owned, piece by piece, as he discovered each article strewn on the floor or between his sizeable collection of Imperial helmets. Stormtroopers, AT-AT pilots, even a single TIE pilot helmet that was more of a chance discovery than a planned theft. Since the Empire had taken his parents, it was only fair that Ezra took from the Empire, anything he could get his hands on. It would never be an equal trade, but then again he was only a fourteen-year-old on Lothal.

Ezra added to his backpack a couple tools he’d acquired along the way, mostly to attempt to fix his small portable stove that still never quite warmed the food he brought home from the inn.

With a heavy sigh, Ezra took in his home one last time. The space had grown smaller over the years, but that just meant everything had been easily accessible. It had been a perfect size for a kid living all by himself. He turned off the lamp and stepped out onto the walkway that ringed the tower, whose view of Lothal City made up for the long commute.

The city sat twinkling in the night, peaceful at this distance and a comforting sight for Ezra on more than one occasion. He took it all in with a desire to remember it. On this night he said goodbye, faces of people he was leaving behind eclipsed the memories he’d created in his home.

There were only a couple of people that came to mind when Ezra contemplated making others proud of him, and now, inexplicably, Vos occupied that space, too. Ezra knew it was stupid—dangerous, even—to get attached to a stranger; he hadn’t warmed up to someone so fast since his parents…

With a lump in his throat, Ezra cut off that line of thought before it reached a conclusion.  

Ezra ran back across the grassy plains and into the city, all musing pushed from his mind, leaving more space for focus—focusing on the shadows where someone could lurk, or on the city sounds in case someone in black armor approached. His fear didn’t let up until the spaceport lights came into view, shining on a welcome silhouette.

Jho stood waiting at the entrance, a little out of place with all the glances he cast up and down the street. Ezra ran right up to him.

“I was hoping to see you before you took off,” he said, and for once Ezra saw a strange sadness in his eyes. “I’m gonna miss you, Ezra, but I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Ezra’s breath hitched. For all the nights he spent dreaming of leaving Lothal far behind on some exciting adventure, here he was, shaking at the thought he might never come back.

“Kix’ll take good care of you, don’t you worry,” Jho assured him.

Eyes stinging, Ezra threw his arms around the one person who had made sure he survived over the past seven years. The only person in Lothal City who knew his birthday, and who tried to make a bigger deal of it than of Empire Day. The only person to give an orphan teenager on Lothal a chance.

“Thanks, Jho. I’ll miss you, too,” Ezra said, amazed he kept a sob out of his voice. “I’ll bring you back some of the treasure, I promise.”

Jho chuckled. “Hurry along, they’re all packed up.”

Ezra walked into the spaceport with a hesitancy. Barely two meters inside, he looked back. The entrance was empty; Jho didn’t stay needlessly to be found by roving stormtroopers. With a breath to steady himself, Ezra pressed on.

Hera’s ship—a light freighter nowhere near the size Ezra had envisioned—sat in its own hangar bay, light shining down the boarding ramp like a beacon. All of Ezra’s childhood dreams of spacefaring adventures came flooding back to mind, sparking a reverential awe of the time honored tradition he was about to be a part of.

Then he boarded.

The excitement dimmed upon finding Lando and Kix leaning on several supply crates in the cargo bay, chatting casually.

“...And that’s how I met the princess of Pantora!” Lando bragged with a cocky grin.

“Can’t say I’ve heard of a green Pantoran before,” Kix said, rubbing his goatee. “Sure it wasn’t a Mirialan pulling a fast one?”

“Boys!” snapped Hera’s voice from somewhere overhead; both men looked up. “Enough shamming—I need those crates clear of the ramp before we take off!”

Motivation grabbed Kix… and only Kix. “You got it, Captain!” He passed Ezra to singlehandedly haul supply crates further into the safety of the large bay—and from the outside, the ship hadn’t looked like it had such room for storage.

Ezra continued into the bay to find Hera descending from a walkway stretching along the wall, just above the ramp entrance.

“So,” came the all too friendly tones of Hera’s not-friend once his attention fell on Ezra. “You must be the boy with the map. I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced! Name’s Lando Calrissian, entrepreneur and financier. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Ezra,” he said. He shook Lando’s hand, suddenly aware of how his own name sounded so bland in comparison. “Ezra Bridger.”

Hera stopped at his shoulder and looked at him with the most interest Ezra had ever garnered from her.

“All clear,” Kix said.

Hera’s lekku bounced as she double checked his handiwork for herself. “Get ready for takeoff, then. And I’d suggest anyone that can’t be found by the Empire _hides_.” She scaled the ladder out of the cargo bay like she’d climbed it all her life, leaving Kix and Lando to argue over who that applied to more.

“The reason I put up with Hera’s steep prices is because I’ve tried to sneak past the Empire one too many times,” Lando said. “I really shouldn’t show my face in the Imperial Complex of all places.”

“I _worked_ there,” said Kix. “If they see me leaving they’ll send TIEs after us—and that’s just if they want to stick to the basic protocol.” It wasn’t enough that the Empire had blackened the city with their machinery and industry; they had to blacken the sky with their fighter ships as well.

“Fine!” Ezra snapped at two men hardly acting like adults. “I’ll be the one to load the cargo, I guess.”

Lando patted his shoulder. “Good man. You’ll go places with that initiative!” Both he and Kix climbed out of the cargo bay as Hera’s voice floated over the comms to brace for liftoff. The boarding ramp rising flush with the hull was the final reminder that his life was about to change, and his exhale shuddered as much as the freighter did coming to life.

Ships arriving and departing were a daily, sometimes hourly, occurrence around a place like Lothal City. The way they gently rose into the air was something Ezra dreamed of experiencing—and then the first rattle of the floor slammed him onto his backside. He scrambled back to his feet and hopped onto the nearest crate to sit for the rest of the flight. Other ships flying off never looked like they shook as badly as this one did. Ezra’s teeth chattered in time with the ship until they leveled out—and in shocking comparison, their cruising—lacking any jolting—could’ve convinced Ezra they were on solid ground again.

“ _We’re landing,_ ” Hera’s voice echoed in the bay once more, not even a minute into the newfound tranquility. “ _I hope_ somebody _stayed to load cargo?_ ”

“Yep!” Ezra shouted as loud as he could, not quite sure where the comm speakers were located. “Got it covered!” He slid his backpack off and tossed it behind a crate—one less thing for any Imperials to be tempted to take.

Ezra assumed that the rough drop followed by a hard shudder meant landing was complete. He slid off the crate as the boarding ramp lowered. He’d never seen Imperial Headquarters so close before, and the sudden proximity to it gave him pause. The lights flooding the outer landing pad shone even harsher up close, illuminating every stormtrooper to walk underneath while also creating an inorganic haze. Ezra could barely see the crates inside the nearby supply bay, or the parked TIE fighter at the opposite end of the landing platform.  

Much closer, at the bottom of the ramp, stood two Imperial officers with a pair of stormtroopers behind them. In the middle of the group was a green Rodian—bleached an almost sickly pale under the lights.

Ezra inched down the boarding ramp, looking for anything resembling crates or supplies. “Evening, folks,” he said, hoping the quivering in his voice was just residual vibration from the landing. “We’re here for cargo?”

One officer produced a datapad. “Transport CG-85-181, we need your confirmation of your acceptance of the shipment.” It was amazing the man held it out in Ezra’s actual direction when his hat was pulled so low over his eyes.

“What shipment?” Ezra asked. Just as the second officer reached for his personal communicator, Hera descended the ramp.

“I’ll take that, thanks. Sorry, the kid’s not actually crew; doesn’t know procedure.” She tapped the screen a couple times and the datapad spit out a card.

“The Rodian’s still in the data transfer stage; don’t interact with him,” the first officer said with curt disdain. Ezra had only found out in the past couple years that disdain was different from their regular accents; before that he assumed they were one and the same.

Hera snatched the card. “Of course. We’ll get him to the destination safe and sound.” She took the Rodian by the arm and guided him into the cargo bay. With the way his head lolled, probably from the weight of the blocky implant wrapped around the back of it, he hardly seemed aware of his surroundings.

Hera pocketed the datacard as she closed the boarding ramp. “Take him to the main cabin, make sure he’s… secured,” she instructed Ezra.

“ _He’s_ the shipment?”

“He’s the shipment,” she said darkly. Hera scaled out of the bay leaving Ezra to herd their new passenger to the ladder. The Rodian’s head tipped in Ezra’s direction, blank eyes landing on him. Ezra took a step back as something about those features sparked a long forgotten recognition.

“…Tseebo?”

…

“Lando Calrissian!” Hera shouted from the cockpit. Half the toggles to prep for liftoff had already been switched by the time she fell into the pilot’s seat—the sooner they left the stifling backdrop of the Empire, the better.

“I haven’t heard my name called like that since the last time I upset my mother,” he said, entering almost a minute later. “Sweet woman; terrible temper. Ah! You need a co-pilot! I’m delighted to assist.” He claimed the seat next to her at the controls but his entire focus landed on her, heavy as a Hutt.

She hardly took her eyes off the sky as she piloted her new ship into the darkening atmosphere. “Be straight with me—”

“Absolutely.”

“What exactly did you agree to do for the Empire?”

“I told you we were picking up a shipment, didn’t I?”

“I was expecting actual cargo! Crates—supplies!”

“No need to feel like I duped you, Captain. Imperials hire civilian contractors to supplement their own logistical operations all the time! For instance, they had no ships headed to Raxus even though they desperately needed to move personnel there. So I applied for the job with a name that carries more credibility to our fine dominating friends than ‘Lando Calrissian’ and they accepted us!”

“That Rodian isn’t just personnel—he’s _intel_. He’s got all the secrets of the Empire in that implant of his!”

Lando arched one brow. He leaned closer, his entire attitude sliding from flirtatious to curious. “And how does a pilot such as yourself come across this insight into the inner workings of the Empire?”

Hera stiffened. “I thought it was common knowledge.”

Just as she glanced back to yell for Chopper, her droid rolled into the cockpit as if on queue. While the sheerest tint of blue still veiled the sparkle of countless stars, he plugged into the wall to commence his hyperspace calculation to Raxus, leaving Lando time to look Hera over.

“And what’s got someone in your situation so interested in Imperial intel, Captain?”

“It’s always worth something.”

“True, that’s why we have a job currently.”

“Worth even more to those for whom it’s not intended.”

It was Lando’s turn to stiffen. In fact this was the first time Hera had seen him come close to looking uncomfortable. “I don’t think I like what you’re implying, Hera. I know you’ve been out to work your way into that rebellion”—and Hera racked her brain trying to remember how or when she let that slip—“but you’re not using this job as your entry ticket. We’ll complete our delivery to the Empire without burning yet another one of my aliases, if you don’t mind.”

…

Enticing Tseebo up the ladder was a failed attempt more than once. Luckily, as Ezra explored further into the cargo bay, he found a ramp that dropped from the ceiling, leading straight to the main corridor. Tseebo managed to shuffle his way up into the common room, only colliding with the doorway and another ladder, first.

Kix popped up from a semicircular couch and attempted to lead Tseebo to sit down by the time Ezra followed. When Hera’s announcement came over the comm that they were about to jump to hyperspace, Tseebo pushed away from Kix, rushed to the ladder and climbed it with more dexterity than Ezra thought him capable of. His expression still looked vacant, but he was on the upper floor in two seconds. Ezra scaled after him.

“Tseebo, what are you doing?” he called, scrambling to his feet on the next level. He found himself in a low-lit corridor, with a door blocking the way further down. Ezra walked through it to find himself inside the auxiliary ship he’d stowed away in earlier, hiding in a wall compartment. Tseebo occupied the single pilot’s char. Beyond the viewport sat Lothal, an orb wrapped in blue. Ezra’s breath hitched, and he neared the front of the ship, his eyes taking in his world. He’d never been this far from home ever, let alone dreamt he’d get this vantage of it. A second later it was gone, replaced by the blackness of space streaked with white and blue.

Ezra’s mouth dropped, and he shook in the newfound, instant _coldness_ of space. An aching longing in the back of his mind wondered if he’d ever see his home again, overpowering that strange twinge of deja vu.

…

For the rest of the day, Maketh Tua had worked on every other task besides contacting the inquisitors, just in case the missing one—Ninth Brother, was it?—had the decency to come crawling back to the Imperial Complex. He didn’t.

The waning moons sat far higher in the sky than she was used to seeing from her office window, but the time converter on her monitor assured her business hours were just dawning on Coruscant. Her hand wavered as she plugged in the contact information to the mini holoterminal weighing down her desk. She’d never contacted _this_ side of the Empire, though she’d heard things. Unverifiable rumors were what made Maketh glad that Governor Pryce previously fielded any and all of these communication tasks. But as the Governor was currently off planet, it was up to Maketh to deal with the inquisitors.

A blue hologram flickered to life of a figure in sleek armor resembling an Imperial uniform. Maketh would’ve assumed him a bald human if not for the prominent markings on his face—sharp lines jutting from his eyes down his cheeks, and a minimalistic design stabbing across his elongated forehead. He opened his mouth and displayed sharp teeth.

“This is the Grand Inquisitor, what is it?”

“I am Minister Maketh Tua of Lothal. I’m reporting that the inquisitor you sent here hasn’t checked in in over two days. Attempts to contact him have all failed.”

“We have many inquisitors on missions, you must be more specific than that.”

“The Ninth.”

The Grand Inquisitor’s expression snapped into one of immediacy, a change even more startling with his piercing eyes—white hot irises burning in blackness. “Lothal, you say? I will investigate this personally. Expect my arrival.”

The holocall blinked out, leaving Maketh to sit with mouth dropping. This wasn’t at all what she intended. If anything, she assumed the inquisitors would accept the news of a missing member with stoic apathy and proceed to forget all about it with, at most, a promise to “look into things.” After all, she’d only known one inquisitor, and stoic apathy was by far his most defining trait.

…

Everyone aboard the _Ghost_ —what Hera named her freighter two minutes after Lando handed it over—freely moved about exploring the ship during their smooth hyperspace journey. Except for Tseebo. He sat in the middle of the couch in the main cabin, eyes fixated on the dejarik table in front of him and utterly unresponsive to anything or anyone.

Ezra returned every so often to confirm that Tseebo hadn’t moved. After the crew had divided the four sleeping cabins among the four of them and Ezra had moved his single backpack into his cabin, he poked his head into the main room to find Hera sitting on the edge of the couch, watching the Rodian.

Ezra shuffled closer. “Has he said anything?”

Hera shook her head, an action much more exaggerated with such animated lekku. She looked at Ezra with interest now, almost identical to how Vos had looked at him, minus the tingling hands. It hit Ezra just as hard, though, to think her expressions had never reacted to him as anything other than a nuisance before. “When you talked to Lando, did you say your last name was Bridger?”

“Yeah,” Ezra said, sure Hera had to have known that. But then again the first time he met her was more of a sales pitch than an actual introduction.

“Any relation to the Lothal rebels who sent out anti-Imperial messages years ago?”

“If you’re talking seven plus years ago, then yeah, those were my parents.” Ezra shifted a little, not quite sure what to do with any part of him.

Hera offered a restrained smile. “That was the first time I realized people were banding together and resisting the Empire. It’s the reason I came to the Lothal system in the first place, I expected to find a rebel group here. But I never did.”

“Those rebels split after the Empire found my parents and took them away,” Ezra muttered. He couldn’t remember any of their names, but a few faces came to mind. Mostly human. People he didn’t see once word got out that the Bridgers had been arrested. No one came back to check on their only child.

“Do you know if any operations continued?” Hera asked, interest shining in her eyes. “Perhaps through friends of your parents?”

“I don’t know!” Ezra snapped. “Ask Tseebo, he knew them!” And with that, he stomped off for the cabin he claimed as his own, leaving Hera alone with the unresponsive Rodian.

“Who’s Tseebo?” she sighed.

 

With no chronometer among his sparse belongings, Ezra had no idea how long he fumed in his bunk, turning Vos’ cube over in his hands.

No one on Lothal—not Jho, not anyone who visited the inn—ever mentioned his parents after the Empire took them. And no one especially mentioned what they had been up to before their arrest for fear of sounding complicit. So to have a stranger—an offworlder—build a conversation around his parents was a harsher jolt than the _Ghost_ lifting off.

The tiny voice in the back of his head, eagerly happy at the fact that their risks had reached people, was drowned out by the dark spiral his mind took. Ezra had never considered it before, but everyone, absolutely everyone he knew, was content to act like his parents were dead rather than abducted, as it saved people the additional risk of _righting_ anything. Assuming his parents were dead meant no one had to approach the Imperials about following the justice system, or mount some sort of rescue plan. No one had to care about them.

With his stomach already long since dropped into sloshing misery, a cold realization weighed on Ezra. He had also assumed they were dead, just to save himself from thinking about them suffering at the hands of the Empire these last seven years. He’d failed them, too, just like all his parents’ friends. But certainly after seven years… the Empire wouldn’t have kept them around for so long, would they?

Ezra perked up at only the smallest hopeful thought stirring in his mind. The best person to ask would be someone inside the Empire, who was now on the ship with them.

…

Hera sat chatting at the galley table with Kix when a blaring alerted her they were coming upon their destination. She took off sprinting for the cockpit, tattooed lekku flying behind her, to reach her destination a full four seconds later. She’d have to work on that.

She eased the _Ghost_ out of hyperspace—and what a wonderful feeling it was to control her own ship in some other system than Lothal—to be greeted by a beautiful blue and green planet. Halfway between herself and the planet floated a detachment of Star Destroyers, easily overlooked in the vastness of space except for people who intuitively recognized their shape.

Hera broadcasted her Imperial-granted clearance code before she flew close enough to spook them. A curt voice hailed her, informing her that the destroyer she needed was breaking away to meet them.

Kix joined her, taking up the co-pilot’s seat by the time the intercepting destroyer was plainly in view. “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of those models.”

“Then today is not your day. I’m taking the _Phantom_ over,” Hera decided.

“By yourself?”

Hera flashed him a look. A crew was something she’d have to get used to. “Chopper’s in charge until I get back. He’s the first mate.” Droid laughter broke out ominously from a dark corner in the cockpit.

Kix’s words followed her into the hall: “I thought _I_ was the first mate…”

She found the Rodian on the couch where she left him—and Ezra right next to him.

“Time to go,” she said.

“Wait—no! He’s just starting to talk!” Ezra cried and scooted closer to the Rodian, who at least blinked now.

“You’re not supposed to be interacting with him,” Hera said. A flare of worry colored her tone, wondering if any communication could unravel all the Rodian’s settings, and impact the mission. After all, it was the only instruction they received from the Imperials on Lothal—Ezra had to have heard it.

Hera pulled their cargo to his feet just as Lando entered the main cabin.

“Don’t worry, Captain, as the first mate, I’ll see that everything runs—”

“Chopper’s the first mate!” she snapped.

 

Tseebo remained undisruptive during the short flight to the Star Destroyer docking bay, but his silent interest in taking everything in somehow unnerved Hera more than if he’d been noisy.

The bottom of the Star Destroyer opened like a maw to swallow the _Phantom_ whole, and inside Hera found a free spot to land among the evenly spaced TIE fighters. Tseebo’s eyes widened—if that was possible—at the Imperial infrastructure, and as Hera took his arm to lift him, cried, “Empire! Tseebo must… must warn Ezra Bridger!”

“Yeah, the Empire’s bad news,” Hera said, “but don’t drop his name to these people.” She lowered the boarding ramp and pulled Tseebo out with her to find a single Imperial approaching, a young female in a brown uniform who had to be even shorter than Hera. Hera cast a glance around, but from what she could see past the standing TIEs, no one else was coming their way. Glimpses of shiny white armor weren’t any closer than the far doorways.

“CG-85-181?” the girl asked, reading off a datapad.

Hera propped her free hand on her hip. “Yeah, but are cadets allowed to receive shipments?”

The girl’s head shot up at that, brown eyes flashing from under her low-brimmed hat. “I’m Lieutenant Wren, supervisor of all non-human employees.” She held out her hand, and Hera relinquished the datacard given by the Lothal Imperials. The lieutenant went to work authorizing the card on her datapad while Hera looked her over, deciding with a frown that she’d dislike working for someone so young, just for not being human.

“What are you, like, fourteen?” Hera asked.

The lieutenant’s dark bob actually bounced this time as her gaze snapped up once more. “Seventeen,” she said with a truly unprofessional scoff. “Not that it’s any of your business. I graduated early, okay?”

Tseebo blinked free of his vegetative state and said something then, but to Hera’s relief, it was completely in his own language, Rodese. He rambled a bit, working himself up, but unlike other Imperials who would’ve yelled at Tseebo for veering from Basic, Lieutenant Wren watched him with a quiet patience.

“ _Intindini_ ,” she said, then went on to reply to him in what must’ve been the same language. Tseebo calmed.

A murky, sinking feeling in Hera’s stomach grew to the size of a gaping pit when Wren turned to her. “He says he has information about the rebel-aligned parents of a boy you’re traveling with.”

The color drained from Hera’s face. She considered shoving Tseebo into the lieutenant just to have a few seconds head start to fly away, but Hera wasn’t that desperate yet.

Wren looked Hera up and down. “Are you with the rebellion?”

“Listen,” huffed Hera, “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull by accusing me of anything—for all I know, this Rodian is just reciting the… the Jedi Code!”

Wren shot a gaze around the hangar bay, and Hera’s hand flattened against Tseebo’s back, just ready to push.

“Lower your voice!” the lieutenant hissed. “Are you completely new at this?!”

Hera braced herself. Her lekku were already shivering, but that could’ve been from the offensive coldness the Empire tolerated in space.

“If you’re really with the rebellion, I want you to take me with you,” Wren said. Her brown eyes were wide—and serious. The innocence of her years wasn’t something Hera expected to find wearing an Imperial uniform. Either the lieutenant was being brutally honest, or she was way too skilled at being deceptive for only seventeen years of age.

“I’ve seen how low the Empire will sink to root out their enemies. Even if I _was_ with the rebellion, I wouldn’t pick you up.”

The lieutenant sighed. “That’s fair.” She finalized her datapad tapping and pulled her commlink from her uniform. “Cargo received, all green. CG-85-181 is clear to depart.”

A confirmation responded and the payment transferred over, all the while Wren kept her eyes locked on Hera. The lieutenant offered back the datacard.

“Your payment, all on here.” She tossed her commlink to the side, letting it skate out of hearing. “I’m officially defecting, and you’re my best chance to get away alive. I’d beg if it’d help, but I think my colleagues would notice.”

Hera glanced around, but still the only stormtroopers remained on the far side of the bay, not even periodically glancing her way. Her reasoning didn’t depend on logic so much as it did hope—hope that a girl as young as seventeen wasn’t so ensnared by the Empire that she would so thoroughly and decisively lead Hera into a trap.

Her mouth felt dry. There was only one correct choice to make, and Hera had no idea which option it was.

“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant.”


	4. The Investigation

Ezra sat slumped over the dejarik table, his finger tracing the lines across its checkerboard pattern. Repetition helped his mind focus when everything else felt numb.

Barely a half hour before they broke out of hyperspace, Ezra had worked up enough courage to leave his cabin and try to talk to Tseebo. Most of the time had been spent by Tseebo staring off into nothing, but when he finally snapped out of it, Tseebo shared less of a conversation with Ezra and more of an encyclopedic info dump. Ezra’s hesitant question about his parents was met with a vague “Mira and Ephraim Bridger, Imperial prisoners.” After the shock deadened and thoughts actually moved through Ezra’s brain again, he didn’t have time to ask clarifying questions before Hera entered and took Tseebo away.

Now he’d never know the truth about his parents. But they _were_ alive; after seven whole years they had—

“Bored already?” a smooth voice asked, startling Ezra out of his thoughts. Lando Calrissian slid onto the opposite end of the couch and spread his arms along the back like he owned it. “We’ve only just started our adventure!”

Ezra would’ve explained how anything involving the Empire left a bad taste in his mouth if he felt Lando was someone to be trusted. But there was something… slippery about the man. Ezra didn’t need prickling palms to tell him that.

“Once the captain returns, it’s nothing but smooth sailing to the Akujii System!” Lando assured him.

Except Ezra couldn’t help thinking something even more important had slipped right out of his grasp with the delivery of Tseebo. He pushed himself to his feet and shuffled for the door, mumbling, “Yeah, I’ll go check on that.”

The cockpit angled into view at the end of Ezra’s slow walk, and he found Kix occupying the co-pilot’s chair, talking to Chopper.

“—and the Y-wing prototypes were why I wanted to be a pilot when I was a cadet!”

In the aisle between the seats, Chopper waved his arms in the most animated way Ezra had ever seen. Neither noticed the boy slumping into one of the two back chairs.

The astromech actually came off looking friendly until a transmission crackled through the comms, startling all three in the cockpit.

“ _Chopper! Start jump calculations_ now _to anywhere! Preferably away from hyperspace lanes—and it better be done by the time I dock!_ ”

Chopper’s flat dome spun around before the rest of him did, and he flew to the wall port to plug in. Kix was half out of his seat already, staring out the transparisteel in the direction of the Star Destroyer. Even Ezra sat up a little straighter.

“Did something go wrong?” he asked.

Kix hopped into the pilot’s chair. “Let’s hope not. Don’t see any TIEs after her, but they always were slow to react.” The stars spun as Kix angled the _Ghost_ away from the Destroyer, facing the empty dock in Hera’s direction. The sound of the auxiliary ship sliding home prompted Ezra to run to the main cabin. Lando sat properly on the couch now as an orange jumpsuit descended the ladder.

“We’re leaving!” Hera shouted. She hit the floor and shot out of the room, lekku lashing, leaving behind passengers on the upper level.

Ezra approached the ladder as a foot indecisively poked in and out of the room, never quite reaching the first rung.

“Easy, careful,” a soft voice said.

Tseebo inched down the ladder, both feet finding each rung, and Lando didn’t wait to meet the second passenger before hurrying out of the main room, shouting, “He-RA!”

The last passenger, a girl in an unmistakable Imperial uniform, followed Hera’s lead, running for the cockpit the moment she touched the floor, totally ignoring Ezra shouting after her. He had no choice but to follow everyone else—because had an Imperial actually pulled the same stunt he had, stowing away in the _Phantom_?—leaving Tseebo to stand in the main cabin, staring into space.

“Captain,” Lando’s strained voice echoed into the corridor as he leaned into the cockpit, “if the cargo is _here_ , how do we get paid?!”

“There’s your payment!” Hera said, tossing the datacard toward him. Ezra skidded into the cockpit in time to see the stars in the viewport streak to blue. “But if I were you, I’d move those credits out of retractable range fast.”

Lando dashed from the cockpit, no doubt on the hunt for a datapad. In contrast, Hera relaxed, slumping in her chair now that they sailed safely through hyperspace.

Ezra honed in on the dark haired girl who’d sunk into one of the back seats. “Why’d you bring back an Imperial?”

Kix’s attention snapped back at that, but his gaze landing on the stranger sitting behind his chair seemed more curious than suspicious.

“She needed a ride,” Hera said and spun toward them. “She knows a planet with a rebel presence that’s frequented by spacers; we’ll get a crew _and_ a safe place for your… friend. As long as the destination Chopper picked doesn’t take us three years to get to.”

Chopper whined his way out of the cockpit with arms waving at such abuse.

“This whole thing seems like a trap,” Ezra said, a little amazed he had to be the one to tell this to a captain. While he’d never been the victim of a trap in his life, he was certainly cognizant of the signs. It all boiled down to common sense, really.

“It’s not,” the girl spoke up, looking—if anything—amused by his worry. “I’ve been waiting a long time for an opportunity to get away. This just happened to be it. My name’s Sabine Wren.”

Ezra folded his arms across his chest before flopping into the only available seat. “I’m Jabba.”

“Kix,” the man said with something between a wave and a salute.

Sabine smiled at him. “Nice bun.”

“Thanks, I get that a lot.”

Ezra rolled his eyes at how easily an enemy spy wheedled into everyone’s favor. Was he really the only one cut out for spacefaring?

…

The lower levels of the Imperial Security Bureau headquarters lacked any windows to the outside world of Coruscant. All Agent Kallus could tell time by was how many cups of caf he’d had that day, because the chronometer projected onto the wall moved far too slowly in his opinion to be working.

He skimmed through the latest report on his desk, a successful mission by Agent Siwyndl that earned her a promotion—a mission that was supposed to be his before Siwyndl snatched it right out from under him. Kallus tossed the ‘pad across his desk before he’d even reached the halfway point—Siwyndl was always long winded when weaving fiction—and instead fetched himself a fresh cup of caf.

He returned to find the holoterminal on his desk blinking. Setting aside his cup, a quick sweep of his uniform and his blond hair to make sure everything was in order, and Kallus accepted the call.

An average naval officer flickered into focus. “If I’m put on hold one more time, I’m going after those rebels myself!”

“Not to worry, Commander,” Kallus said after a glance to his rank plate. “What is your situation?”

“A civilian crew that was supposed to deliver personnel to us captured my ship’s xenolinguist! And they made off with the cargo, too. Someone from the Imperial Information Office.”

Luckily Kallus wasn’t still holding his caf, or else the floor would be wearing it. The amount of intel stored in the implants of workers within the IIO could severely hinder the Empire if it wound up in the wrong hands. Maps, blueprints, schedules, logistics, prototypes; the entire inner workings of the Empire just on display for whoever asked the right question.

He found his desk chair. “Start from the beginning—don’t leave out _any_ detail.”

…

Maketh waited in the main hangar bay, arms crossed and foot tapping. With Empire Day less than a week away, she had to oversee the TIE production and parade setup. She didn’t have time to play tour guide to a Grand Inquisitor who couldn’t even arrive on schedule! Beyond the celebration preparations and the missing inquisitor, she just learned earlier that day that their newest medic was also absent—which was extra report writing and oversight delegation Maketh didn’t need right now. If everything could just go back to normal, she’d be grateful.

The flight tower’s announcement of an incoming ship echoed in the bay and Maketh stood a little straighter when the distinct silhouette of a _Sentinel_ -class landing craft materialized through the clouds.

It skimmed elegantly into the bay and filled the empty space with its cooldown hissing. While Maketh had gotten a good look at the Grand Inquisitor during their one and only holocall, seeing him descend the boarding ramp in his dark armor and deep red facial markings sent a shiver down her spine. He wasn’t anything like she was used to interacting with at all. She certainly didn’t expect him to be so tall—but maybe that was just due to his extra-long forehead.

He stopped the moment he reached the ground and took a deep breath. His eyes were still just as startling.

“Yes,” he almost hummed. “I sense it already.”

“Sense what?” Maketh asked, plucking up the courage to approach him. “Your subordinate?”

“Oh, no, he’s dead,” the Inquisitor said with a carelessness that struck her almost half as much as the statement itself. “But you had _Jedi_ here, Minister. I can feel their residual signatures.”

“Jedi? But—but Jedi are a thing of the past!”

“Yes, that’s what we wanted you to think,” said the Inquisitor, moving out. He headed for the turbo lift doors on the far wall like he knew exactly where he was headed despite never being here before. Maketh fell in behind him, hardly matching his long stride.

“What are you going to do? Who should we contact?”

“No one. You are not to tell _anyone_ about this. Inquisitors tie up these loose ends when it comes to Jedi, and I doubt any are left on the planet, so you have nothing to worry about,” he said. Waiting for the turbolift to reach their level was long enough for Maketh to catch her breath. “I should thank you, Minister. We haven’t had a lead like this in…”

The doors parted and Maketh followed this peculiarity of the Empire into the lift, hoping that the Inquisitor would conclude his business quickly and leave her to her Empire Day preparations and the normalcy of _human_ interaction.

…

Ezra left the cockpit in favor of the main cabin. The adults had immediately given Sabine the benefit of the doubt, looking straight past her Imperial uniform and actually talking to her like a person. How dense could they be?

Hera decided Sabine would share her room, and with two bunks to every room they were hardly cramped for space, but Hera was also the captain and the most important person to incapacitate if Sabine was going to take over the ship. And Ezra was expecting it.

Tseebo at least responded to conversation now, though specific Empire-related words prompted more info-dumps of everything Tseebo had downloaded about them. Ezra attempted to navigate this conversation nightmare back on the couch, steering as hard as he could in the direction of his parents but somehow their conversation spun in circles more than anything else.

When Sabine entered the room, Ezra’s impatience at Tseebo’s information spouting turned to sudden shushing—to no avail. She stopped halfway through the room, hand on her hip, looking a little too comfortable in a place so new.

“So you’re the kid he must’ve been talking about earlier,” she said, “the boy with the rebel parents.”

Ezra glared at Tseebo. The Rodian didn’t notice; his rambling was more like background noise now. “I’m sure he’s got me confused with someone else, don’t you, Tseebo?”

Lando entered from the direction of the galley with a steaming cup in his hand. “Hello, I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance yet,” he said, offering his free hand. “The name’s Lando Calrissian, entrepreneur and financier.” Ezra slapped a hand to his forehead.

“Sabine Wren, xenolinguist and explosives expert,” she replied just as smoothly.

“Really? You’ll make a fine addition to our crew—”

“No, no she won’t!” Ezra piped up from the couch. Both Lando and Sabine eyed him in the awkward silence that followed.

“Don’t mind him; if you’d like a cup of caf, I could show you to the galley.”

“That would be great, thanks,” she said. Sabine stopped in the doorway once Lando had left and leveled her gaze on Ezra. “Hey, Jabba, if you need help with your Huttese, hit me up.”

Tseebo perked up at that. Whatever he had been talking about before immediately switched to: “Huttese, while not an official language within the Lothal System, is spoken by a minority of sentients, 17% on Garel, 8% on Lothal, 3% on…”

Ezra folded his arms across his chest as there was no stopping Tseebo again, but he only had a minute to stew before Kix entered. The man didn’t look the least bit on edge, and Ezra wondered how he’d managed to survive an entire war if he wasn’t suspicious of the enemy.

“They’re plotting our next jump now. It looks like it could take us anywhere between ten and fifteen hours,” he reported, claiming the free space on the edge of the couch.

“Fifteen hours? Are we going to a different galaxy?” scoffed Ezra.

“Space is big,” Kix said with an easy shrug. “Enjoy it; half the time hyperspace seems like the safest place to be.”

Ezra let his arms fall. “This isn’t what I expected when we first planned to go after the treasure. This entire time we’ve been gone from Lothal, we haven’t even started in the direction of the Akujii System, and now Hera’s looking to bring in even more crew. What do we need more people for? They’ll just make the treasure smaller for the rest of us.”

Ezra tried to meet Kix’s eyes, but the man looked at him with a seriousness that Ezra couldn’t hold. The dejarik table was a far safer object to stare at.

“We don’t know what we’ll come up against on this trip; it’s better to have numbers than not. And I’m sure the Captain is looking for a permanent crew to carry on with once our mission is over—this ship is too big for her and Chopper alone,” Kix said with the sting of sound logic on his side. “Right now, we’re a skeleton crew, Ezra. Finding the treasure alive is better than risking it with minimal hands for a bigger cut.”

“I didn’t know you’re hunting treasure!” Sabine gasped as she and Lando returned with caf, deep in their own conversation.

“We’re bound for the Akujii System,” said Lando with all the self-importance of someone who had started the expedition himself. Ezra pulled his collar up halfway over his face and flopped onto the dejarik table.

…

Imperial protocol of keeping detailed records was a time-consuming hassle most days but an absolute blessing in those rare instances when information needed to be compiled. Agent Kallus’ hours melted into the files of the missing officer, Lieutenant Sabine Wren, which spanned all the way back to her days in the Imperial Academy. For being so young, she had an impressive collection of talents under her belt—a one-woman army if he ever saw anything like it. Possibly her being a Mandalorian had something to do with it, but her acquisition of so many languages was all her own doing.

His first order of business had been to distribute a missing notification with Wren’s picture and information.

Then his attention shifted to the civilian ship. Kallus had requested all relevant surveillance of the ship from the Star Destroyer commander, but as the footage was of the entire bay, the small civilian ship itself was too grainy to pick useful details from.

It originated from Lothal, a small, out of the way system, producer of nothing extraordinary. It was another lead, however slight.

Searching through the imperial database for the number of the governor of Lothal took almost as much time as it did for the governor to answer. Just when he thought he’d been put on hold himself, the call connected with a rather fussy-looking woman in a hat that must’ve been compensating for something.

“ _If this is not an emergency, I really must call you back—_ ”

“This is a matter of Imperial security,” he interrupted. “I’m Agent Kallus of the ISB and I’m looking for the governor because there has been an intelligence breach regarding one of your personnel.”

“Governor Pryce is offworld at the moment,” she said, sobering. “I’m Minister Tua, filling in while she’s away.”

“Well, Minister, a crew that transported one of your Imperial Information Office personnel abducted both him and the officer who was to receive him. I recommend changing the non-rotating security codes, and I also require the surveillance footage of the civilian crew accepting the IIO personnel.”

“ _Yes,_ ” the minister said, sounding like the wind had been knocked out of her. “ _I’ll send that to your office immediately._ ”

…

Maketh’s head fell into her hands—this was the first time she was free of showing the inquisitor the specific places in the city he wanted to see, and she couldn’t even enjoy settling back into the unvarying routine of her job. A missing inquisitor, a missing medic, now a missing intelligence worker? At this point, what else could go wrong?

Her office door slid aside for the Grand Inquisitor and Maketh at least tried to pull herself together and sit tall. He walked with hands behind his back, appearing quite at ease despite the death of one of his order; his composure was both chilling and distasteful.

“You’ve been most obliging today, Minister,” he said. Between his red markings and piercing black eyes and sharp teeth, Maketh didn’t quite know where to look. “I need only to send a message to my subordinates and I’ll be on my way.”

That was the best thing Maketh had heard all day, and she gestured to her holoterminal. “By all means!”

The Grand Inquisitor typed in a code; instead of a direct call, he programmed his message to be recorded and distributed. “Children, your Ninth Brother has fallen, cut down by a Jedi on Lothal. Disregard your missions; this takes priority. Sniff them out.”

Maketh didn’t even pretend to be preoccupied with the work on her monitor. When the Inquisitor sent his message, she couldn’t help but intervene. “Is that it? That’s nothing to go on! How do you expect anyone to find results when all you give them is a planet you don’t believe the Jedi are on anymore?”

“We have different methods of operating, Minister,” he said. His features were cold when he gave her a nod. “Good day.”

“Grand Inquisitor, wait,” she said just as the door opened for him. “There was someone… a clone medic, recently hired to assist us. He is also absent from work, but before he went missing, he asked about your Ninth Brother quite often. Every time I talked to him, in fact.”

A thoughtful hum echoed from him. “A clone and a Jedi, like a duo straight out of the past. I assume the administration office here retained his records? I’ll pick up this clone’s file on my way out.”

He left Maketh in the peace of her own office to finally return to her mounting—normal—tasks.

…

“You should think about catching some sleep before we arrive,” Kix advised on his way out of the main room.

If Ezra’s mind had been functioning at the moment, he would’ve been able to recall exactly how long he’d been awake. But anything that happened earlier than him boarding the _Ghost_ was a little fuzzy at the moment, exacerbated by the frustration of a failing conversation. Talking with Tseebo was… well, like herding loth-cats, and Ezra had been at it for well over an hour.

“The loth-cat’s dun-colored coat is unique among tooka varieties and is well suited for wilderness camouflage…” Tseebo recited, not pausing his description of Lothal fauna since Ezra accidentally mentioned “loth-rat” five minutes earlier.

An inorganic laugh echoed from the corridor before Chopper rolled into the room wearing Sabine’s imperial hat on his antenna. He spun around in the middle of the cabin as if modeling it for Ezra, beeping his glee.

“Lookin’ good,” Sabine said, following the droid. “You could pass for me.” Chopper saluted her with a spindly arm and rolled away wearing his prize, chirping what he knew of the Imperial anthem.

“Recruiting?” Ezra croaked. It was a bad idea to start anything, but his mind had long since shut off.

Sabine’s patience, similarly, had eroded hours ago, and she cast an irritated look in his direction. Now at least it was a little harder to tell her Imperial status since she removed her brown jacket with her rank; she was down to the black shirt underneath and her uniform pants with the ridiculous pokey pockets. Her gaze cut into him. “Jabba, let’s get something straight—I don’t owe you my life story or my reasons for doing anything. Just know that the decision to work for the Empire was made _for_ me, and after being stationed on a Star Destroyer, I couldn’t exactly walk away. But I can take the information that I gathered in the Empire and share it with people who want to bring them down, which is what I’m doing.”  

Ezra winced. He’d never once thought there was such a thing as Imperials unhappy with working for the Empire. Sure, the things the Empire did were terrible, but he just assumed there were people out there who enjoyed bullying.

“I’m… I’m Ezra, by the way,” he admitted, because he certainly wasn’t going to apologize.

“…And thus the loth-cat is considered the most difficult tooka variety to domesticate,” Tseebo concluded before sinking into his thousand-meter stare.

Ezra breathed a sigh of relief. “Finally, he’s done.”

“Just ask him pertinent questions and he won’t ramble like that,” Sabine said.

“I’m asking him exactly what I want to know!”

“You have to use the proper words,” she said, looking at him as if he were dumb. While Ezra could only respond with a stink eye, Sabine crouched on the other side of the dejarik table across from Tseebo. “Okay, what do you want to find out?”

“He says my parents are in prison but he won’t say where.”

“Location coordinates of Ezra’s parents.”

Tseebo sat up straighter. “Classified.”

“Lucky for you,” Sabine said in Ezra’s direction before clearing her throat. “Lieutenant Wren, Sabine; Clearance Alpha-three.”

“Workstation?” demanded Tseebo, eyes glazed over as if the implant was really doing the talking and Tseebo was just its mouthpiece.

Sabine quirked a brow. “The ISD _Harbinger_.”

“Clearance declined; information restricted to Lothal Imperial personnel only.”

Sabine started. “What?!”

“Yep,” Ezra intoned. “Lucky me.”

“Hey! Jabba, this doesn’t happen for your average prisoner. The empire doesn’t hide just anybody behind a classification wall. What did your parents _do_ to get locked up and the key thrown away?”

“No life stories, remember?” Ezra shot back. All of Sabine’s interest receded behind a stony expression.

“Well, you’ve reached a dead end and he won’t give up the location of the prison, so by default it’s probably one of the maximum security prisons where the inmates do hard labor, because the Empire likes to keep those off the map. But by all means, continue getting information about the planet’s weather from him,” Sabine quipped, pushing herself to her feet. Her glower was the last thing Ezra saw before she stomped off for the sleeping cabins, leaving Ezra to fume at her general unhelpfulness.

…

More empty caf cups collected. Kallus’ shift had ended three hours earlier, but he still occupied his desk, staring at the monitor. Already he had connected the Imperial code given to the civilian auxiliary transport with the footage of a light freighter landing outside the Lothal Imperial Complex. The freighter, with its discernable markings, was now wanted. The green female Twi’lek, while he couldn’t get a precise picture of her features, was clearly the pilot—was now wanted. Kallus couldn’t find enough on the boy who appeared in the Lothal footage to issue anything on him, but Lieutenant Sabine Wren’s ID picture had already been spread across the Empire. Like any good Imperial, however, Kallus expected the lieutenant to try her best to escape at the earliest opportunity.

Or at least, he did until a half hour ago.

Kallus rewound the surveillance footage from the Star Destroyer for the upteenth time. And for the upteenth time, he cursed the lax standards of Imperial security because the grainy, subpar quality of the recording wouldn’t have been a problem if all Destroyers were required to update their technology every few years. He couldn’t zoom in and he certainly couldn’t enhance; Wren, the Twi’lek pilot, and the Rodian remained frustratingly tiny.

But something about it didn’t seem like any hostage situation Kallus had ever studied, not even among the ridiculously polite society of the Nirrm. While the commander remained convinced his prized—and only—xenolinguist was captured right out from under him, Kallus couldn’t help thinking of that one page in Wren’s file, her known associates, Ketsu Onyo, who deserted years ago from the Imperial Academy. It was circumstantial at best, but it stuck out to Kallus that Wren hadn’t been the one to alert the Academy of Onyo’s disappearance. Records showed she complied with the investigation that followed, but Wren claimed she’d been unaware of Onyo’s desire to desert.

“Where could you possibly go with a member of Imperial Information?” he asked himself.

Coruscant had an Imperial Information Office of its own, staffed round the clock by workers with identical implants as the Lothal Rodian, an endless source of relevant knowledge. By now, Kallus had their number to their office memorized, and he plugged that into his holoterminal.

A human promptly appeared in blue. “Oh, Agent Kallus, what is it you need?”

“The location of all known rebel cells, starting from Raxus and moving outward.”

“Compiling that information could take hours!” Anything not instantly answerable was entirely too long for people whose minds worked at computer speeds.

“Then prioritize the cells with the most recent activity, by their proximity to Raxus.”

The human looked no more eager by this task, either. “Yes, Agent. We’ll report our results.”

What else could a civilian pilot need with both intel personnel and an Imperial officer if not to benefit the Empire’s enemies?

…

Ezra told himself he wasn’t _that_ tired, and he’d probably only need to sleep a couple hours. The moment he hit his bunk, curled up with his backpack safely in his arms, he was out until a pounding on his door brought him back to the waking world.

Still half wrapped in his blanket, Ezra opened the door to squint through bleary eyes at a man who was far too responsive for whatever this hour was.

“Morning!” said Kix, entirely too loudly. “Feel like exploring?”

“I’ve already seen the ship,” Ezra said around a yawn.

“Not the _Ghost_ , the city! We landed. Captain Syndulla said as long as we stay within a mile of the spaceport, we can go wherever we want.”

Ezra stumbled out of his blanket to charge into the empty cockpit. The view of a time-worn duracrete wall met him.

“Where are we? Where’s everyone?” Ezra asked. He hurried back down the corridor of silent rooms to grab his backpack from his own cabin.

“Well, Lando went off on his own, the Captain and Sabine took Tseebo to see about grabbing a meeting with the rebellion, and Chopper? Who knows, really.”

“Do we know when they’ll be back?”

“Captain said she’d call over our commlink. Until then, we’re free to explore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know updates are generally once a month, and even though I've got most of chapter 5 written (where everyone else finally enters the story!), I'm shelving this fic for awhile to work on projects that are more important to me.


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